Down In Yon Forest
by Annamonk
Summary: It's a holiday story. Not my forest, just lighting random trees.
1. Chapter 1

Yule was soon upon them. The guards occasionally hummed a carol or two. One had put charmed mistletoe in the exercise yard and made once proud men kiss each other for jollies. The next day the charm had been enhanced. He'd been spared that misery, but his father had not. It had been the last straw for the once proud man. Dolohov hadn't minded a bit, but Lucius had succumbed to an oddly virulent chest cold that night. Draco hadn't much cared.

It was Weasley that came, mouth breathing and still angry, to tell him the happy news. Due to the gross negligence of the guards, he was being freed ten years early as a reparation for what had been done to his family. Draco had nodded slowly, waiting for the special sprinkles of doom.

"You won't be allowed to live in England for the next ten years. The German Ministry has agreed to allow you access to your home there." Ronald Weasley rolled his eyes. "A portkey will be provided."

"Can I visit her grave first?" Draco pushed the words past his lips. It was odd to talk after all the time spent in forced silence.

"They didn't give her a grave." Ron sneered. "She was a bloody traitor, trying to smuggle you lot to freedom."

Draco closed his eyes as the grief hit him fresh and hard. They'd been getting the last few stragglers out as the light side purged England of Slytherins when they'd been caught. Hermione had sacrificed herself to try to buy him time. He could still see her on the ground staring up at the constellations with unseeing eyes. She'd been fighting for the soul of England, but she had lost.

He missed her everyday.

"My things?" Draco looked squarely at Weasley.

"Will be returned when you are processed for release." The man took a step back. "I wanted to see you. It's why I came. I wanted to understand why she chose you."

"I wish I knew." Draco sighed. There was something oddly disturbing about standing there lost in grief with one of her former friends. He took a deep breath and stared at the man.

Ronald Weasley nodded and stepped back again.

"She cried. Some nights, she cried these silent tears for you and Potter." Draco offered the man what she would have wanted, but he did so knowing it would bring no comfort.

"Don't come back, Malfoy." Weasley sighed. "Go to Germany and stay."

He left with a clang of metal. Draco slid down the stone wall and sat on the floor. He was being freed from prison, and it did not matter.

Potter, looking wildly rumpled, arrived with his wand and a small bag of his possessions the next day. The bag was a treasure trove. He clutched at his clothing. The oddly knit jumper had been his gift from her the Yule before their luck had run out. He clutched the thing to his chest and rocked himself back and forth. He didn't care if Potter saw his grief. He didn't give a bloody damn what Potter did.

When the first wave of grief was done drowning him, he dressed. Everything was too large, but he couldn't adjust it without his wand. He held the jumper to his chest. It was now his greatest treasure. He blinked at Potter and saw the man's grief surface.

"She wrote me letters." Potter looked over his shoulder. "She told me that she loved you. It's good to know she wasn't alone in that."

"Do you know what happened to her?" Draco looked at the ground between them. "What was done with her body?"

"They were going to make a spectacle and burn it." Potter whispered. "Someone broke in and stole it before that could happen. I wish I could thank them everyday. Watching her burn..."

Draco understood.

The horror of it would have finished Potter.

"I'd be burning England if they'd burned her." Draco sighed. "I'll find her. I promise you. I'll find her."

Potter nodded. They walked down the narrow corridor in silence. The other prisoners struggled against the charms that stopped them from talking, but the sounds they managed never approached a murmur. Draco didn't look at them. He watched as Potter did. He watched the broad shoulders droop as the horror of it sunk into his brain.

"If she'd lived, they'd have put her in here." Draco sighed as he considered that reality. "She would have hated it here, and I don't imagine the guards would have spared her. Most of the females don't last long here."

"Death as a mercy?" Potter shook his head.

"My father thought it was." Draco frowned.

"Perhaps I'm selfish, but I'd rather imagine her out there in the world somewhere." Potter closed his eyes and not his lower lip.

"With me? Because she would have been with me." Draco raised his chin.

"I know that." Potter handed him a ring. "It's meant to be yours, I'm sure. Your constellation is picked out on the gold in gemstones. Find her, Malfoy, and let me know how the mercy of it feels."

"I'll be sure to lay some poppies on her grave for you." Draco slid the ring on his finger and felt it warm slightly. He looked down at it and cupped his hand to his chest.

They crossed through a door into the dull grey of afternoon. The wind ripped at them both. Potter shoved the port key and another bag into his hands and Draco surrendered to the power pulling him away from hell.

He stumbled as he landed in the foyer of the Winter House. It wasn't a grandiose place by Malfoy standards. It had been his grandmother's retreat from her husband when his father had attended Hogwarts. He frowned and looked around the room and the furniture draped in sheets. Only the main table was bare.

It should have been covered as well. There was an arrangement of white peonies on the table. He walked toward the flowers. They were caught in a stasis spell which wasn't odd, but his grandmother had hated peonies.

Hermione had loved them.

He moved closer and lifted the vase. A muggle carol played. He recognized the tune. Hermione sang it to him once when he'd been tired. It had been her mother's favorite. he closed his eyes and tried to remember the name of the song. It was something to do with a forest. He hummed along with the tune. He remembered her voice as she sang about a hall and a bed. there been just a touch of something sorrowful and lost about it. He set the vase down and the music ceased.

The light in the receiving room was too bright. One of the curtains had been left open. The elves simply weren't that careless. He strode across the room and stared out the window. Endless snow and trees. He heard the elves arriving. Soon the house would be prepared. He'd have comforts and decent food, but he didn't care. He only wanted her.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco found himself staring out the same window the next day. He tried to imagine her here. She'd have wanted to cavort in the snow and lecture him about simple pleasures. Her hair would have erupted in a riot of curls when he stole her hat. Rubbing his chest absently, he let himself drift into a lovely eidolon where she was with him.

A loud crash drew him from his reverie. He glanced about and saw the elves were still fixing the place up. Avoiding them meant leaving.

He didn't want to go into the town or explore parts of the house they had yet to touch. He stroked his finger along the chilled glass. His life had become one endless list of things he did not want to do. His sleep was disturbed time and again by memories of that last horrible night. Moving about made his joints ache. He couldn't think of a single, truly pleasant thing in his life.

He didn't want to eat lunch, but the elves had grown rather commanding and would not take no for an answer.

He'd spooned soup into his mouth without tasting it. He heard the melodic arguments occurring around him, but let the elves alone. He didn't want to lose himself in the trappings of his ancestors. He'd learned how little such things were worth.

The soft bed and warm blankets didn't keep him from waking up shivering and screaming out her name. He could barely stand the sound of his own voice. It was easier to continue on in silence.

The elves were decorating, but he didn't care for the glittering silver garlands and green ornaments. It was wasted on him. He stroked the ruffled petals of the peonies as he passed by the opulence to look out the one window that mattered.

The deep blue of late afternoon made the snow seem all the brighter and helped him notice the shadows of tracks against the unrelenting white. The depressions in the snow didn't come to the house, but he could see them clearly leading into the forest. One of the elves lifted the vase of peonies and that song filled the air again. He turned to yell at the creature and then stilled.

"In the forest, tower, bells, bed." He muttered as he tried to remember the song. "Down in yon forest."

He stared out the window and blinked. The forest stretched down the mountain and into the valley from where he stood. Her favorite flowers. The song her mother sang.

"Down in yon forest." He summoned his cloak and transfigured his shoes into boots.

He was out the door and into the bitter cold in a moment. The snow was powdery and whirled about on small eddies of air as he passed by. Some part of him knew this was folly, but he couldn't help but hope.

Following the trail through the woods wasn't difficult, but it was far too easy to give into his thoughts. He remembered seeing her die. He remembered Weasley and Potter. They were both lost in their grief. He pushed on, but the weight of his doubts and the physical effort required of his still feeble body were slowing him.

He saw light ahead and stopped. There was a clearing. It was obvious even from his place in the trees.

He leaned against a tree trunk and stared toward the fading light. Hermione had been the one to push forward. She was the one that had kept his hope alive. That bit of fading light held answers. He knew it in his bones.

"The truth is the truth." He looked up at the canopy of snow and branches. "This will make no difference."

He pushed away from the tree and looked back. It was a long walk. He was tired.

Bells rang. Bright and clarion, they set the birds to flight. He turned back and saw a feminine form outlined against the darkening blues.

It had to be an illusion.

He glanced back into the dark forest. There was nothing for him back there but an empty house. He turned back toward the light and surged forward. Each step felt like torture. His muscles were atrophied, but he ignored the weakness. The lingering sun danced on the snow and across the features of a small blonde girl. Her wavy hair fell around her shoulders and framed her wind kissed face.

He blinked. She looked like a blonde Hermione. He fell to his knees.

"Mummy." The little girl screamed and a familiar form stepped toward him.

He could only focus clearly on the blue mittens. If he was dying or dreaming, he didn't care. His love was with him.

"Hermione." He pushes her name over his thickening tongue. "I've missed you."

He felt her magic grab and lift him and saw the blonde girl run by him toward an odd blue tower.

"Aunty Luna." The girl called. "Aunty Luna. Daddy is here. He's finally here."

He blinked.

"I was pregnant." Hermione smiles down at him. "I faked dying with a potion. I thought you'd go, but they caught you anyway."

"You were gone." He mumbled as she lifted him a bit higher and passed him through the doorway into a warm room. "I saw you fall."

"Neville stunned me right after I swallowed the potion. He helped Luna and Rolph sneak me out and revive me." Hermione flicked her wand and he felt his body right itself, but she didn't release the spell. He relaxed and let her magic hold his weight. "I wanted to go back for you, but I had to focus on Miranda. The pregnancy wasn't easy."

"I've put fresh sheets on the bed." Luna Lovegood stepped down the stairs. "I'll keep Miranda here until you get settled. It's good to see you home, Draco."

He nodded slowly and wondered briefly if he was lying face down in a snow drift. He couldn't escape the thought that this was all a dream. He felt the nudge of Hermione's magic and turned toward the stairs. It was narrow and steep, but she kept him safe as they ascended to the top floor. He took a deep breath and caught the scent of mulled cider and Hermione. It was heavenly.

"You're not dead, Draco." Hermione banished his clothes and slid him in between warmed flannel sheets. "I wanted to get you out of that place, but Luna outsmarted me. She got your Aunt Andromeda to trap me here with a spell. That is one powerful witch."

"It's the Black blood." Draco sighed and settled into the bed. She passed him a mug of cider and smiled as he drank deeply. He felt the pull of sleep almost immediately.

"It's a mild sleeping draught." Hermione ran her fingers through his hair. "You need rest."

Darkness settled over his mind. He was warm and loved and safe. He

Let himself drift into a deep sleep.

"But Daddy will like my blue foxes." He heard his daughter's voice. "You know he will."

"I do, Darling." Hermione sounded like she was smiling. "But he needs his sleep. The healing potion takes time to work."

"He must have lots wrong." He felt the brush of her little hand against his cheek. "He's been sleeping for days."

"Your father will wake when his body is healed and not a second faster." Hermione's scent wafted over him. He let himself drift a bit as their conversation continued. He took a deep breath and felt no pain. He'd forgotten that such a thing was possible.

He opened his eyes and looked up at a navy ceiling covered in golden stars. His own constellation was easy to pick out. It wasn't charmed. She'd painted the ceiling and crafted the stars.

He turned and watched his daughter and the love of his life play on the floor with two well loved toy foxes. The cold that had become his life was gone. Here was his hope.

"Daddy's awake." His daughter's bright blue eyes focused on him. "In time for Christmas."

She bounced around the room as he locked eyes with Hermione. She was more beautiful now than she ever had been. Her quiet strength and gentle smile filled him with such hope for their future.

"Miranda, come meet your father properly." Hermione stood in one smooth movement and approached him slowly.

"Shakespeare?" Draco smirked.

"The innermost moon of Uranus and Shakespeare." Hermione grinned.

Draco sat up and his daughter crawled up into his lap.

"I'm a tempest is a teapot." She smiled up at him. "I've been waiting on you."

"I'm sorry." Draco stroked back a wild, blonde curl. "But, I am home to stay."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note**_

 _I could have gone on and on with this. I love their little tower in the woods. Aunty Luna assures me that they will be happy. There will be snoopy dancing and carol singing. Some day a dark haired man will some to visit. Miranda and her five siblings will drive him spare. There will be love and forgiveness in their house always._

 _Merry Christmas,_

 _Anna_


End file.
